


A Priestess' Needs

by Adadzio



Series: Smut [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Divergence - Sons of the Harpy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/pseuds/Adadzio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And you, my lady, what do you need?</i>
</p><p>Burning questions are resolved for Stannis and Melisandre—and with a lot less Jon Snow.<br/>Alternate version of GoT 5x04.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Priestess' Needs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I combined two prompts for this fic: Stannis' line from 5x04 pans out/"Either aggressive cunnilingus or fluff so sweet we get diabetes. Fire or sugar. There is no middle ground."  
> Well my dearest anon, you get your fire and even some diabetes at the end of this one. Enjoy!  
> xx

Clashes of metal rang throughout Castle Black’s courtyard. Lord Commander Snow was sparring with his men as the snow drifted steadily around them. For once, everything was relatively calm at the Wall. The calm before the storm, perhaps, but a calm all the same.

Some stories above, King Stannis Baratheon leaned over the balcony railing and observed the men below. His red priestess was at his side, as per usual, and she was lecturing him about Ser Davos— _as per usual_ —gods knew what else. He had been scrutinizing Jon Snow with some interest, but presently turned his focus to Melisandre.

“—and left me behind,” she was saying. She shot him an accusatory look. “I hope you won’t make that mistake again?”

It was strange, even the dreariness of the Wall— _such a dreadful eyesore_ —could not diminish his priestess’ fire. _She is quite beautiful, really_. Her God’s fire was part of her. She was simply… _red_. And wherever she went, she caught the lustful stares of the men of the Night’s Watch and his own army. It did not bother Stannis, of course; there was no reason to be bothered by such pettiness when he had larger battles to fight. Still, he could not help but feel uneasy since they had arrived at the Wall, ever since Melisandre had set her eyes upon one man in particular. Stannis glanced back down at Ned Stark’s bastard. He had seen the dazzling smiles Melisandre cast at the younger man when she believed no one was watching. She clearly saw something in the boy, much like Stannis did, but there was something more—a kind of hunger in her gaze. The boy’s youth and good looks most certainly did not help matters.

Surely it was for the boy’s own sake that the king worried himself over this…complication. Stannis knew how unnerving his priestess could be, after all, and he knew the lengths she would go with a boy she saw potential in. He had seen it himself with his own bastard nephew back at Dragonstone.

“I won’t,” he answered her finally. _No, he would not make that mistake again…either mistake._ Satisfied, Melisandre turned away from him to watch Jon Snow down in the courtyard. At that Stannis felt a sharp stab of something—some emotion he could not quite place—in his chest. It left him oddly frustrated.

“I need you," he confessed bluntly. 

When his eyes met hers again he saw that she smiled with coy amusement.

“You only need _faith_ , my king.”

Stannis finally straightened up, somehow irritated by her flippant tone. _Was she_ _patronizing him again?_ With a final look at the Lord Commander, Stannis brushed past her.

"And you, my lady, what do you need?"

To his surprise, Melisandre graced him with her captivating laugh. “Do you truly wish to learn the answer to _that_ , my king?”

Intrigued, Stannis paused on the stair, trying to discern her meaning. She was leaning lazily against the railing, but— _gods be damned! —_ her gaze was still fixed upon Jon Snow.

 _I will not play her games,_ he decided after a moment, clenching his jaw with determination. So he said nothing and continued up the stair to his rooms. But before he could enter the castle doors, he heard her musical voice call to him, clear as the sound of the swords below.

“Come to my chambers tonight.”

* * *

 

Stannis scowled. “You need _what_?”

To hide her amusement Melisandre turned toward the fire in her quarters at Castle Black. He had come that night after all; he was the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms, yet he still snuck into her rooms like a naughty boy. At the expense of his own pride he did so, fervently determined, and all to learn her answer.

She turned back to him and repeated herself resolutely. “I need you to come here and _kiss me_. That is the first part.” Stannis still seemed affronted by her request, eyes darting about the room suspiciously. She sighed impatiently. “Do you truly want to know, your Grace? The full answer? Then you must earn it.” When he still said nothing, she continued casually. “Otherwise, I shall content myself with my fires for company tonight.”

The king’s frown thinned, and he raised his eyebrows at her impertinent words. “You speak much too freely, my lady, and with too little regard for your rightful king.” All the same, he marched toward her, watching her face carefully for any sign of jest. He found none, and so when he was close enough to tower over her, he leaned down to kiss her.

Before he could do so, the priestess held a finger to his lips. “Not there.” The king pulled back hesitantly, his eyebrows lifting again in question.

The fire crackled softly in the silence, and Melisandre relished the sound until the room was pregnant with tension. She pursed her lips.

“Kneel,” was all she said.

Stannis tilted his head incredulously and studied her for a long moment. “I hope for your sake I have heard you wrong, my lady—“

“ _Kneel.”_ Melisandre lifted her chin, eyes glinting with a spirited authority.

He realized then that she was quite serious, that she was commanding her own king to kneel for her. And she was waiting, expectantly, daring him to disobey her, to walk away now…and to be left questioning. _Damn her!_ He weighed the choice in his mind.

 _To hell with the last of my pride,_ he concluded. _I will serve her if it brings me an answer._ Stannis glowered at her, never breaking eye contact even as he sank grudgingly to his knees.

The red priestess smiled triumphantly, bringing a hand to stroke his thinning hair back from his forehead. He felt absurdly like a pet until he noticed that she was plucking at the ties of her own red silks with her free hand, pulling the fabric aside to reveal ivory skin. Stannis’ eyes involuntarily left her face to rake down her form. _Damn it all, she is indeed beautiful…_

He heard her softly command, “kiss me,” and when he felt a hand guiding him to her skin, he could not refuse her.

Melisandre sighed as Stannis pressed a gentle kiss to her abdomen, then kissed his way down to her hipbone. She fisted her hands into his hair as his inexpert attentions quickly turned rough, teeth leaving red marks upon her pale skin. _Red to match the rest of her…_

“Lower,” came the next hoarse request, and lower he went. His lips suddenly met her clit, pressing feather-light kisses there until Melisandre let out a strangled cry, her hips arching further into his mouth. Stannis’ large hands came up to clasp her thighs, steadying her. He pulled his head back just far enough to look up at her, his breath still tickling her sensitive skin. Melisandre’s eyes were already half-closed in desire, he observed, her chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual.

“Was that the answer? You needed me to kiss you there?” he demanded, his own voice dangerously low with longing. _I have her under my control now. I will put an end to this madness._ Melisandre yanked his hair back fiercely in response. _Perhaps not,_ he decided hastily.  _She is still in control_.

She smiled coquettishly down at him. “You will do as I say, my king, or you will never know.” 

Stannis sighed petulantly, pulling away with a growing sense of discomfort. “Perhaps I can live with not knowing.”

“Oh? Even if Jon Snow knew the answer?”

The king froze. After a moment he slowly narrowed his eyes at her. _What was she playing at?_

The priestess widened her own eyes demurely. “Very well, if you are certain you do not need to know, but you seemed so inquisitive earlier…”

Stannis felt rage begin to simmer within his veins, his rigid control beginning to crack. “Has he touched you?” He demanded with a tight voice.

Melisandre shrugged innocently, but she knew she had won. She stroked his stubbled jaw languidly, the hint of a smirk at her lips. “Back to your duty, my king.”

Stannis’ head was still reeling with fury; unbidden, obscene images of the Stark bastard and his priestess clouded his thoughts…yet his stubborn determination pushed him forward. “What would you have me do? Kiss you once more?” He did so, again and again, feeling her growing wetness coat his lips, gripping her thighs so hard she was sure to have bruises the next morning.

“Yes…more,” Melisandre moaned, fingers clutching savagely at the nape of his neck. When Stannis himself groaned, a strained noise at the back of his throat, her desire increased tenfold. 

“Tell me,” Stannis hissed desperately against her, “tell me what I must do.”

The priestess pulled him back again by a fistful of his hair, this time so aggressively that he was forced off balance.

Melisandre ran her thumb over his lips, slick with her own essence. Her eyes were dark.

“Take me into your mouth. _Serve me_.”  

A thousand appalled protestations rose in Stannis’ throat, yet he forced himself to bury them against Melisandre’s thighs, nipping harshly at the already-bruising skin. She cried out when his teeth grazed her clit; she shuddered fiercely when his tongue followed. As he lapped obediently at her, her head fell back in pleasure, hair cascading like a bloody river down her back and tickling the tops of her thighs.

“Kiss me inside,” she gasped faintly, and he ignored the impulsive shame welling in his chest in order to yank the rest of her robe off her burning body.

He slid a finger inside her and she whimpered; she was dripping for him, _only him, damn any other man_ …he slid his free hand around the curve of her leg to cup her backside and upper thighs, fingers tangling, catching painfully with strands of her hair. Abruptly withdrawing his finger from her, he brought his face to her inner lips and kissed her soundly. Melisandre nearly sobbed, her voice a long wail of pleasure. With the way that she clawed at his scalp, he would have his answer soon, Stannis thought dryly.

The priestess panted, rolling her hips against him, feeling her release coil tightly inside her. One of her hands clutched at his sinewy forearm, nails leaving bloody tracks, using him as an anchor. “Touch m—oh!” She gasped as Stannis circled her clit rapidly with his thumb, his mouth still buried deep between her legs. Melisandre began to unravel as his teeth dragged sharply across her flushed lips, and when Stannis thrust his forefinger back inside her heat, she came apart around him, clenching her thighs around his face and crying out his name. As she rode out the waves of pained pleasure, Stannis nuzzled his features against her thighs, cherishing the way she trembled against him. And when her knees finally buckled he rose achingly to his own feet, catching her in his arms. 

Melisandre fell wordlessly into her king’s embrace, pleasantly surprised when he carried her over to her bed. He dropped her gently upon the bedding, allowing her to pull him onto it as well. They both lay bruised and breathing heavily for several moments, watching the flames of the fire dance across the room. Eventually Stannis felt her hand tease over his erection, beginning to undo the laces of his clothing. He frowned, humiliation setting in, and caught her wrist more roughly than he intended.

“I don’t need that,” he said coldly.

The priestess frowned, pushing hair out of her still flushed face. “My king…”

He interrupted impatiently. “Tell me the answer.”

Melisandre studied her weary king for a moment, still somewhat breathless, and a tender smile snuck upon her lips. “You are jealous,” she observed.

Stannis shifted so that he was looming over her body. “ _The answer_.”

She sighed patiently, running her palms up his chest until they rested against his gaunt cheeks. “First, you must understand. He has not touched me, Stannis. Jon Snow knows _nothing_. Well…" She smiled conspiratorily. "He does know one thing—“

Stannis jerked out of her embrace dejectedly, and Melisandre hastily finished, “—he _does_ know the answer.”

Her long-suffering king sighed warily _._ “And what, pray tell, is the bloody answer?”

Catching his hand in her own, Melisandre entwined their fingers together. “The same as yours, my king.”

For a moment, Stannis was at a loss. He searched her eyes cautiously and found only sincerity within them. The full meaning of her words dawned upon him, then, along with a wave of reverent possessiveness for his priestess. _She is beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world. And I'll not let another man have her._

"Say it," he insisted quietly. 

Melisandre’s gaze was warm with adoration and relief. She brought their joined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to his wrist. “I need _you_.” Another kiss to his fingers. “Only you.” A kiss to the back of his hand. “And above all…" She pressed a final, tender kiss to his lips. "I need to be by your side, always.” After a moment, however, her smile faded into a pout. “Now, do you understand? Never leave me behind again.”

Stannis did not respond at once; he simply permitted her to curl against his side in contentment. She wrapped her limbs tightly about him, copper hair tickling his neck. The king's eyes were tired, defeated even, yet they betrayed a rare smile.

“Never, my lady,” he promised.  _I need you by my side as well._


End file.
